


All That We Think We Know

by morning_softness



Series: I Almost Wish You Knew Me Better [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (Hiking! It’s Martin’s first time hiking!), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aromantic Sasha James, Autistic Martin Blackwood, Bisexual Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Canon Bisexual Character, Gen, M/M, Martim Week 2021 (The Magnus Archives), Martim week: OG archival staff, Martim week: dressed up/down, Martim week: first time, Multi, Mutual Pining, Quoiromantic Martin Blackwood, The Magnus Archives (Podcast) as a Workplace Comedy, The Magnus Archives Season 1, Updates Weekends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29398239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morning_softness/pseuds/morning_softness
Summary: Tim has a crush on the earnest and attractive new Archival Assistant, but so far Martin hasn’t picked up on any of the hints he’s been dropping.  Martin has a crush on his new co-assistant but is sure there’s no way the hot and charming Tim Stoker could ever return his feelings.  A hiking trip gone awry brings them both closer in ways neither expected.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Series: I Almost Wish You Knew Me Better [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144928
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21
Collections: Martim Week 2021





	1. Find a road and follow

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song “Clear Eye Clouded Mind” by Nada Surf.  
> The working title for this was just “Tim and Martin go Hiking.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim has a crush on Martin and doesn’t understand how Martin is oblivious to this. Meanwhile Martin desperately tries to convince himself he doesn’t have a crush on Tim because there’s no way Tim could possibly be interested in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song “Clear Eye Clouded Mind” by Nada Surf.

Tim knows he has a tendency to get crushes way too easily. He’s had feelings for Jon for years now since they first met in research, and then Sasha after she transferred in from Artefact Storage, and now...now there’s a new assistant. It’s only the three of them and Jon in the Archives so on the one hand they spend a lot of time together but on the other hand it would be ridiculous for Tim to have a crush on _**all three**_ of his closest coworkers. Still, Tim has plenty of experience being ridiculous and Martin is, well...Martin is, frankly, captivating.

And yes, it’s the way Martin’s oversized jumpers never quite disguise the curves of his figure, and the fact that he fills out those work slacks _very_ nicely. It’s the way he can lift a filing box with one arm and carry two at once, balanced on his broad shoulders, like it’s nothing. It’s his round face and full cheeks, always faintly rosy and dusted with freckles. The way that faint blush deepens to a deep red when he gets flustered, and how incredibly easy it is for Tim to tease and fluster him. The way he quirks an eyebrow and wiggles his shoulders when he tries to tease Tim back, which Tim would almost call flirty if Martin didn’t seem completely oblivious to the effect it has on him. 

But it’s also the way he makes tea for everyone and—after the first day when they told him—always remembers exactly how they like to take it. 

The way he smiles all the time like it’s something he practiced, and laughs even when he’s nervous, but when he’s actually happy his whole face lights up and he seems to glow with it from the inside. 

The way he does a little happy-dance when he gets excited about something: that little shoulder shimmy and hip jiggle he does if someone else is in the room—like he’s trying to hide it but can’t quite, or the way he bounces on the balls of his feet or jumps up and down and shakes his hands out at his sides when he thinks no one else is watching. 

The way he dresses in dark slacks and cats eye glasses on a chain and soft oversized jumpers layered over his shirts like he’s cosplaying as someone’s idea of a librarian even after working in the Institute Library for ten years. The way he also paints his nails black and roller skates to work in the mornings. The fact that he always carries a first-aid kit and he has a desk drawer entirely full of chapsticks. 

The way if you get him going, he can talk about John Keats or spiders or the qualities of good horror writing for a full hour or more, eyes sparkling with excitement, voice steadily rising, arms waving with enthusiasm. 

All right, Tim has it bad. 

”Martin?” Sasha asks, incredulous, when he finally gets up the nerve to tell her. “I thought you were interested in Jon?” 

Tim shrugs helplessly. “I am! It’s sort of both? I’m still interested in you, too. I mean, I know— _I know_ —you don’t feel that way, and I’m not going to push it, it’s just, I can like more than one person at a time!”

Sasha hums sympathetically. “Sounds rough.”

Tim scoffs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You have no idea. I swear, I try to focus on work, really I do, but it’s so hard with him sitting right there, looking absolutely irresistible.”

“I could start flicking paper clips at you every time you look over in our direction,” Sasha offers, “give you more of an incentive to keep your eyes on your work.”

“I’m serious, Sasha! I mean, I noticed him the few times we crossed paths when he was in the Library, but I don’t think he ever noticed me, or noticed me noticing, you know? Anyway, back then I was trying to get closer with Jon—“

“—For all the good that did,” Sasha interjects. 

Tim winces and sighs. “Yeah. I really thought we were getting somewhere, you know, getting closer as friends at least, if nothing else. That’s the reason I accepted the offer to transfer. But ever since we came down here, he’s been so distant...”

“Like he’s in first-impressions mode again even though we already know him?” Sasha says, rolling her eyes. “Tell me about it. Ugh, I thought he’d gotten past his whole prickly skeptic act a long time ago, but _of course_ all it takes is a promotion and a new coworker for him to start laying it on extra thick again. I swear, sometimes that man is impossible.” 

Tim frowns. “D’you think we should start inviting him along to the Friday Pub Nights?” He asks. 

“Not unless you’re planning to flirt with Martin right in front of Jon,” Sasha says. 

Tim sighs. “Right, right.” He pinches his forehead. “It’s just, I keep trying to get closer with Martin, but he’s even worse than Jon when it comes to getting to know him. I’ll talk with him for an hour and then realize it was mostly me talking, and he didn’t share any information about himself. Or I’ll come away from the conversation with 20 new facts about spiders and none about him, besides the fact that he knows them. And any time I try to flirt with him, he just laughs and goes on with whatever he’s doing, like he doesn’t even notice I’m coming on to him!”

“You really like him, don’t you?” Sasha says softly. 

“What should I do?” Tim asks. 

“I mean, I’m probably not the best person to come to for advice on romance, Tim,” Sasha says, raising an eyebrow, “but I’d say, ask him out.”

“I _know_ , but we’ve known each other for what, three weeks? What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if I ask, and he says no, and then we both just have to keep working together? He just joined the team, I don’t want to make things more awkward for him. I mean, I know things have worked out really well between the two of us—outside of our one ill advised little fling—but we were already friends for years before that.” 

“Then make friends first,” Sasha says reasonably. “Spend time together, get to know him better, build that foundation you’re so keen on having. Either way, nothing’s going to happen if you just sit on your feelings the way you did with Jon.”

“I didn’t sit on my feelings with Jon,” Tim says hotly. “I invited him out just about every other weekend back in Research. We’ve been to each other’s flats loads of times. I flirted with him every day! He just...”

“Never got the hint and now he’s your boss?” Sasha finishes. 

Tim nods miserably. 

“Right, well don’t make the same mistake with Martin, then.” Sasha says. “Tell you what, why don’t you invite him out this weekend? That should give you both some time to prepare but not enough to overthink it, yeah?”

“Thanks, Sasha,” Tim says, “you’re the best. See, this is why I love you!” He leans over to press a quick kiss to her cheek and she laughs and smacks his arm. 

“All right, stop making excuses and get back to work,” she says. “We don’t want Jon or Martin to get the wrong idea.”

\- - -

Martin’s worked in Archives for three weeks now and he has definitely, totally gotten over whatever crush he might have had on Jon. Sure, Jon is visually appealing, but he’s also an absolute prick and Martin resents the fact that he’d ever found him attractive. Not to mention that Jon clearly hates Martin, with an intensity and persistence well beyond what their unfortunate first meeting warrants. 

Tim and Sasha have both tried to convince Martin that Jon does not in fact hate him, that Jon is simply like that, but despite Tim’s assertion that Jon just needs a bit of time to warm up to him—“I swear, Martin, he just flat out ignored me for the whole first month after I joined Research, but now we’re best friends”—Martin remains confident in his judgment of the situation. Martin might not be the best at reading the room, but at the very least he can tell when someone doesn’t like him, and Jon is about as subtle as a brick. Not that he’s outright _rude_ to Martin, because Jon is nothing if not painfully professional. Or that he talks about Martin behind his back, the way Martin hears people talk about Jon when he’s sent up into Research or back to the Library on an errand. Jon barely even leaves his desk most days, except to give them new assignments or check on their progress. He comes in before anyone else, stays through lunchtime, and is often still there when Martin leaves in the evenings. So, no, he’s certainly not gossiping about Martin. 

It’s just the way he ignores every good thing Martin does, everything he gets right, and hones in on every little thing he gets wrong—an error in his Latin translation, for example. It’s the way he makes demands that are frankly ridiculous—like identifying a person from a decades-old statement based solely on a first name or a statement giver’s description—and then lectures Martin about his poor work ethic and ‘lack of due diligence’ when he’s unable to quickly produce an answer. It’s the way he seems to blame Martin for everything that goes wrong in the Archives, whether or not Martin was directly involved, or even present. It’s the little muttered comments that Martin can’t help but catch, that he’s not quite sure he’s meant to overhear. 

All in all, Martin has well and truly gotten over any feelings he might have had for Jon, and he could completely focus on work without any distractions if it wasn’t for Tim. 

Tim is hot. The kind of hot that means he looks like he stepped off the front page of a magazine or a movie poster. Hot in a way that makes Martin nervous, because Tim is way out of his league. Not that Martin looks _bad_ , but he’s not going to land a modeling career any time soon. 

Martin kicks himself for the way his breath catches and his heart judders whenever Tim flashes that patent grin at him, all twinkling eyes and straight white teeth. He hates himself for the way his stomach flips when Tim says his name, or one of the various nickname versions Tim’s made of it. He would never accept that from anyone else, but somehow when Tim does it, it seems charming and friendly instead of patronizing and overfamiliar. Maybe it’s because Tim has nicknames for everyone. Maybe it’s because he _wants_ Tim to be that familiar. 

It’s hard not to fall for Tim when he’s not only good-looking but such an all-around great person. Martin knew he was a good guy ever since he agreed to help with the dog incident on his first day in the Archives, and every interaction Martin’s had with him in the weeks following has only served to cement that impression. Sasha is friendly enough, but Martin gets the impression she secretly looks down on him almost as much as Jon does, which seems a bit unfair since ok, Martin might _not_ actually have a master’s in parapsychology, and maybe he never met the previous Head Archivist, but he’s been at the Institute at least as long as Sasha has, and at least _he_ has enough sense not to consolidate the statement documents by stapling them and making them vulnerable to staining from rust. Tim, on the other hand, makes Martin feel like he’s a part of the team, rather than an unwelcome last-minute addition.

Martin knows he should just be happy to be Tim’s friend. There were plenty of people in the Library who were friendly, who liked him enough to pitch in for a parting gift when he transferred, and he’s still on good terms with them, but he was never really _friends_ with any of them. They never took the time to learn his favorite poet. They never asked if he wanted to go to the pub on a Friday or get together on a weekend. He should be glad that Tim wants to spend time with him outside of work, as a friend. Shouldn’t that be enough for him? Why does he have to hope for more when he knows he’s just setting himself up for disappointment?

Martin knows it doesn’t mean anything that Tim jokes and flirts with him. Tim jokes with everyone, even the people who come in to give statements (and it seems to help relax them a bit, while they wait to see the Head Archivist), or the ones he calls for follow-up (and it seems to make them more willing to give information), even Jon (who sometimes, to Martin’s surprise, laughs). Tim flirts with a lot of people too. Not everyone, but definitely Sasha and Jon, and enough other people that Tim’s the go-to for making and maintaining inside contacts when the Institute needs to access confidential or classified information. It’s flattering and sweet, and Martin knows that Tim is sincere, but he also knows that he isn’t getting any kind of special treatment. Tim is just _like that_ , he’s amazing and charismatic and funny and generous and charming, and just because he sometimes jokes or flirts with Martin doesn’t _mean anything_. 

It probably means something that Martin lets him. It means something that Martin does his best not to tense up when Tim claps a hand on his shoulder, let alone flinch or jump away. Anyone else who came up behind him and suddenly put their hands over his eyes saying, “Guess who?” would probably get a fist to the face, but with Tim, Martin just jumps in his seat, his body going tense as his stomach flips. Most times he just manages to squeak out, “Tim!”, and Tim will laugh and pull his hands away and move on to whatever it was he needed Martin’s attention for. It means something that Martin goes to the Archival Assistant pub nights which Tim has made a weekly tradition, even though he doesn’t particularly like alcohol and can barely spare the money for it. 

It means that Martin is lonely and desperate and ready to fall for the first attractive guy who’s nice to him, even if it’s only because he’s nice to everyone, he thinks grumpily. Which is just sad and pathetic, and Martin is better than that. 

So, Martin does _not_ have a crush on Tim, he tells himself. He does _not_. Just because Tim’s nice, and funny, and really, really hot, and sometimes he acts like he’s flirting with Martin. Martin definitely does _not_ have a crush on Tim. 


	2. He doesn't need to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is unfairly hot. He invites Martin to go hiking with him, which is almost definitely not a date.

Unfortunately, it’s very hard for Martin to remember that he doesn’t have a crush on Tim when Tim shows up to work the next day with water slicking back his dark hair. Martin’s breath catches as Tim flips his hair like someone in a shampoo commercial, flicking back his wet bangs from his eyes.

In Tim’s defense, it _is_ raining, and even dashing the short distance from the Tube station to the Institute, it’s impossible to entirely avoid getting wet. Still, Martin’s heart beats faster as he watches the tiny drops that trace the bold, firm lines of Tim’s jaw and cheekbones, and he imagines running his thumb along the contours of Tim’s face to catch them. Tim’s damp clothes cling to his skin, highlighting his taut abdomen and long, toned legs, and his unbuttoned shirt collar reveals a sharp line of collarbone that Martin desperately wants to touch. Tim blinks, water droplets sparkling on his eyelashes like unfallen tears, and Martin is suddenly breathless, overcome with a desire to kiss them off. 

Martin presses his hands over his mouth, teeth worrying at the web of flesh between his thumb and forefinger as he rushes to the bathroom, where he snatches up a handful of paper towels. _What is wrong with him?_ He shouldn’t be thinking about Tim this way. Tim is his _friend_. There’s no way he wants Martin’s damp fingers on him, let alone his _mouth_. Standing in front of the mirror, uncomfortably aware he looks more like a damp rat than a shampoo model, Martin dabs at his own wet curls until he calms down and the flush fades from his face.

At least Sasha has the grace to look slightly frazzled when she arrives a few minutes later, the springy coils of her hair frizzing at the edges. She’s muttering how she should have wrapped her hair today as she shrugs off her dull rain jacket, the jewel-tone dress beneath a bright contrast to her dark skin. 

“You skated to work in this weather?” Sasha asks, watching as Martin struggles with the wet laces of his skates. 

Martin shrugs, finally kicking off his roller skates and pulling out the work shoes stashed in the lower drawer of his desk. He’s grateful he had the foresight to stash an extra pair of socks with them. “It’s just rain; as long as I wear a coat and go slowly it’s not that bad. Everything we work with stays here, and I can get lunch at the canteen, so it’s not as if I have to worry about carrying anything that needs to stay dry. Besides, the streets between here and my flat are in pretty decent condition. It’d be different if I had to worry about falling in a puddle that was actually a hole.”

Sasha nods. “Oh yeah, back when I ran track in high school, it was awful. For some reason our school had two tracks—one for the boys’ team and one for the girls’ team—and I’m sure you can guess which one didn’t get properly maintained.” She rolls her eyes and sighs. “I can’t even count how many times one of my teammates fell or twisted an ankle because there was a pothole no one noticed or because they slipped on the soft ground in the rain.”

“I think the worst part of track for me was getting up early for the practices,” Tim says. “Especially on those cold, rainy days when you’d much rather be warm and dry in bed than outside running in circles.”

“Oh yeah,” Martin says, “those early-morning practices were the worst. And running in the rain? I mean, I like the rain all right, but the way the track and field got all muddy?” He shudders at the memory. “Eurgh.”

Tim and Sasha are staring at him. “You ran track?” Tim asks. 

Martin can feel the heat rising in his face. He doesn’t normally mention this because he doesn’t like the way it makes people look at him. Martin knows he doesn’t look like most people’s idea of an athlete, and to be honest he hadn’t even back when he ran track. “I only did it for a year,” he hedges quickly, “and I wasn’t very good at it, but, yeah. I ran the 3200m, 1600m, and the 800m events.” 

“No field events?” Sasha asks. “I would have thought you’d be pretty good at shot-put, given how strong you are.”

Martin’s flush deepens. “I mean, I tried out for it, and I _could_ throw the shot-put pretty far, but I’m not exactly the most coordinated, so I think we all agreed it was safer to keep me on the track events. Less, er, room for collateral damage.”

Tim laughs, then stops at the look on Martin’s face. “Sorry, Martin. I’m not laughing _at_ you, I promise. I was just imagining: ‘whoosh~...aaugh!’” He mimes an object flying through the air, and then dramatically clutches at his chest with a sound of pain. “Martin Blackwood, angel of destruction! Taking out all the long-jumpers in one fell swoop like so many bowling pins.”

Martin manages a nervous chuckle in response. “Something like that, yeah.”

“So only distance events, huh?” Sasha says thoughtfully. “I can see that. You live 4km from the Institute but you still skate to and from work most days, right?”

“Well, I’m not exactly _racing_ on my commute,” Martin protests. “It’s not like I’m fast. Even when I did track, I usually ended up competing for 2nd-or-3rd-from-last. I think they only kept me on the team because our school was small and we needed enough members to compete.” He stops, wishing there was a way to snatch those words back out of the air and swallow them before Tim and Sasha hear them. Why does he always have to overshare and embarrass himself as much as possible? At this point he might as well admit that he got a ‘most improved player’ ribbon for shortening his time in the 3200m by more than a minute over the course of the season. He’d been unreasonably proud of it too, until Mum had thrown it out, telling him that it was practically a booby prize, proof that he didn’t have any real accomplishments worth celebrating if all they could come up with was ‘congratulations: you went from awful to mediocre,’ that being given that was worse than getting nothing at all. Martin swallows hard. He didn’t need to think about that. Why did he even say anything in the first place? He should have just left it alone when Sasha and Tim brought up the topic, instead of scrambling desperately at any opportunity to make a connection. Tim’s actually athletic. He probably doesn’t want to hear about Martin’s one pathetic attempt at sport. 

“You should come hiking with me sometime,” Tim says. 

Martin just stares at him, uncomprehending. “What?” This is so far from anything he’d expected Tim to say that he can’t process it. Is Tim joking? 

“I normally go alone, but you know they say it’s really better for two people to go together, for safety, and of course it’s more fun with a friend,” Tim says. He certainly _seems_ serious. “Sasha’s not really interested in hiking, right Sash?” He pauses and glances at Sasha who shakes her head. 

“I’m more into capoeira,” she says. 

“I convinced Jon to come along with me a few times when we were in Research together,” Tim continues, “but he doesn’t have much stamina, and he’s got weak ankles. After the second time he got a bad sprain and I had to carry him back, I think we both decided it would be better to focus on our other shared interests.”

“I’m not fast, Tim,” Martin repeats. “I’d probably just slow you down. You wouldn’t be able to go as far as you wanted, and if I got tired or injured I _really_ doubt you could carry me back like you did with Jon.” He’s self-sabotaging, he knows he is, but he can’t help it. There’s no way Tim seriously wants to take time out of his weekend to spend with _Martin_ , of all people. Martin’s still half-convinced that this is all some practical joke, even though he knows Tim isn’t the type of person to make a joke at someone else’s expense.

Tim shrugs. “I mean, I’m not really racing when I hike either. It’s not about the time or distance; it’s more about the experience, and that’s better with friends. I think it would be fun to have you come along.” 

_It’s not a joke_ , Martin realizes, Tim actually wants to go hiking with him. Somehow Martin has become important enough to Tim that Tim actually wants to spend time with him outside of work. Alone, just the two of them. _Is this a date?_ Martin feels the heat rising to his face at the thought. He doesn’t think hiking is a traditional first-date activity, but then again Tim isn’t exactly the most traditional person. Wait, but he’d mentioned hiking with Jon back in Research, though, so probably not. Just a friends thing, then. Martin feels his stomach sink again at the realization, even though it’s fine, really, he should be happy Tim thought of him at all, that he means enough to Tim to be invited even as a friend.

When Martin doesn’t respond, Tim coughs and adds, “Of course, if that’s not something you want, you can just say so, you don’t need to make excuses to keep me from feeling bad or—“

“Oh, no, no!” Martin says quickly, flushing. _Get ahold of yourself, Martin._ He’s messing this up already, and it hasn’t even started yet. “I mean, yeah, I’d love to go with you. Yeah! So, um,” he adds after a moment, “when were you thinking exactly? Like, this weekend, or...”

“Oh, sure!” Tim says enthusiastically. “Why not? How about Sunday, then?”

“Wow.” Martin breathes out heavily. This is actually happening. He’s doing something with Tim. This weekend. “OK. Thanks.”


	3. All I feel is transition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin prepares for the definitely-not-a-date by brainstorming all the ways a hiking trip could go wrong. He has a run-in with Jon at a charity shop that goes slightly less badly than might be expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song “Clear Eye Clouded Mind” by Nada Surf.

As the day of the hike actually approaches, Martin gets more and more nervous. Martin knows this isn’t a date, that there’s no way that Tim thinks of Martin as anything more than a friend, at best, (and honestly it’s probably wishful thinking to assume he sees him as anything more than a coworker he’s on good terms with), but if he wants there to be dates with Tim in the future, or even for Tim to keep hanging out with him as a friend, then Martin really needs to show Tim his best side. Unfortunately, hiking might possibly be the worst activity for that. 

Tim had assured him that speed wouldn’t be an issue, and Martin knows that—even if it’s not on par with Tim’s—his stamina is decent at least given his daily commute. But (and there’s always a but, isn’t there?)...but even if the pavement in London isn’t completely smooth and level, it’s still a lot more so than a dirt trail through a forest.

Tim doesn’t strike Martin as the type of person who would call walking on a paved trail hiking. If anything, he seems like the type of person who would forge into the undergrowth to carve out his own trail. And Martin doesn’t have weak ankles—thank goodness (he’s always prided himself on his general sturdiness and durability)—but he also doesn’t have the greatest sense of coordination and balance. If Tim knew how often Martin comes close to taking a tumble on his daily commute—or how often he _does_ tumble, patch up his scrapes with the first aid kit he carries, and then shakily continue at a slower pace or take the Tube the rest of the way—he might not have been so quick to invite him on a trek through uneven terrain. 

Tim’s never seen, either, the way any amount of physical exertion seems to send all the blood rushing to Martin’s face. He doesn’t know that Martin usually takes care to arrive at the Institute before the others (except Jon, generally already sequestered in his office as if he lives there) so he can spend several minutes splashing cool water over his face in the bathroom to return to his usual coloring before anyone sees him. There’s every chance Tim will see Martin slowly stumbling red-faced through the woods and regret asking him to tag along. 

Then there’s the possibility of injury, which Tim had blithely brushed off when Martin had brought it up, but even if it’s something as minor as a sprained ankle, Martin’s not sure they’ll be able to handle it properly. Martin’s strong enough in the casual day-to-day sense of being able to lift and carry boxes of files, but he’s not sure he’d be up to the task of lifting and carrying a grown man like Tim. And Tim might be fine carrying Jon, who’s short and thin, but probably not someone who’s taller, broader, and heavier than him the way Martin is. 

What worries Martin most is the fact that he’s never been hiking. He’s gone on walks before, and while he imagines hiking must be different and more difficult, he’s not exactly sure what’s involved or what equipment Tim will expect him to have. When he does some research online, he quickly falls down a rabbit hole of articles and advertisements proclaiming long lists of essentials—everything from a hiking pole to a space blanket—and arguing over which version of each product is the best, with the best generally appearing to be the most expensive. Martin does not have £250 to spend on a pair of trousers. 

On the plus side, it turns out his favorite jacket is perfect for the occasion, and the t-shirt he got at last summer’s horror-writing convention is polyester which is supposed to be good for wicking away moisture from the skin. On the minus side, Martin does not own anything like the approved style of trousers. He’s not about to hike in his work slacks, and everything he reads assures him that hiking in jeans is a _very bad_ idea. 

Maybe he can find something at the charity shops? It’s already enough of a toss up whether he’ll be able to find anything in his size, and even more unlikely there will be anything specifically designed for hiking, but maybe he’ll be lucky enough to find something at least slightly more suitable than jeans. 

He could try at the shopping centre, scan the discount section and the clearance rack, but he _knows_ what the clothing selection there looks like, what sizes most places have in-store (or, more to the point, _don’t_ have), and of course there’s no time to order anything online unless he wants to pay for expensive hiking trousers _and_ express shipping. At least at the charity shops there’s the possibility—however small—of finding something suitable, if only because he doesn’t know for sure there _isn’t_ something. 

Which is why Saturday morning sees Martin on Halloway Road, steadily making his way through one shop after another, hoping for a miracle. 

After scouring three shops with no luck, he’s just about given up when in the fourth shop he finds a pair of trousers that might work. Martin checks the fading materials tag and does a quick search on his phone to make sure that, yes, nylon is the approved fabric for hiking trousers. 

Then he ducks into the fitting room to check that yes, they _do_ fit and he hadn’t completely misjudged the size. He’s grateful the fitting area is just a curtained off corner of the shop, not a proper room with a mirror, because he does _not_ want to see exactly how unflattering a pair of neon-bright magenta and teal parachute trousers looks on him. Martin might be all about retro aesthetic, but he at least likes his colors to match, and he normally doesn’t go for magenta. Martin sighs as he changes back into his regular jeans and folds the trousers for purchasing. If there were options, he definitely would’ve picked something that matched at least one of the colors in his favorite jacket, but, well, beggars can’t be choosers and all that. At least he now has trousers he can wear hiking. No one said they had to be fashionable. Even if he _would_ rather look his best for Tim, and their definitely-not-a-date. 

Coming back out of the changing area, eager to pay for his purchase and get home before he wastes any more of his day, Martin bumps—literally—into the absolute last person he wants to see. 

“Oh, hi, Jon!” Martin’s voice comes out in something close to a squeak as he steps back quickly, giving him space. “I, um, really wasn’t expecting to see you here!” Martin has absolutely no idea how to act around Jon outside of work. Running into his grouchy boss at the charity shop doesn’t fit into any of his prepared scripts, and he’s pretty sure crashing into said boss isn’t going to make Jon hate him any less. Not that _anything_ he’s done so far has seemed to do much on that count, but this is hardly going to help. Not to mention that this Jon, in black skinny jeans, a band t-shirt, and a ghost podcast hoodie, is so far from Martin’s image of his boss that he’s not sure how to interact with him. 

Jon nods stiffly. “Yes, while it’s hardly a habit, I do live nearby and come here occasionally.” His eyes narrow sharply. “What about you? Why are you here?”

“Ah, you know, just trying some clothes!” Martin gestures at the trousers he’s holding and then wishes he hadn’t. The last thing he needs to do is give Jon an excuse to criticize his fashion sense. 

Jon gives him a brief glance over, then nods, his face relaxing. “Very colorful. They’ll suit you.”

“Oh, really? Uh, thanks!” Martin considers the possibility that Jon is colorblind. But he’d said the trousers were colorful. So maybe Jon is just the one with poor fashion sense. “I got pretty lucky,” he babbles, latching onto the one conversation topic available, “I honestly wasn’t expecting anything to fit. It’s always a bit of a long shot trying to find anything in my size. I think this might be the only pair of trousers here that would fit me, so not much choice in terms of color or design, but I think the material should work.”

Jon nods. “Yes, it’s always a toss up looking for anything specific. I’m looking for a new work bag myself, and this is the third shop I’ve been to without finding anything suitable.”

“I usually wear jeans, but I’m going hiking with Tim tomorrow, and I’ve read jeans are supposed to be pretty bad for hiking in, so—”

Jon nods knowledgeably. “Oh, yes, denim retains moisture, so not only will it trap any sweat inside and make sure any mud you encounter sticks stubbornly to the outside, if you have to cross through water or have a mishap with a puddle, you’ll stay cold and clammy for the rest of the day,” he makes that little almost-smile he does sometimes, his habitual frown smoothing out into a straight line. “I found that out firsthand the first time Tim and I went hiking.” He frowns again, forehead creasing as he looks more closely at the trousers Martin is holding. “Are these a good material for hiking, then?”

So Martin starts to explain what he’d found out through his internet searches on hiking materials, and Jon actually listens like he’s interested, interrupting every now and then with a clothing fact of his own, and it’s...strange. Jon outside of work is surprisingly—well, not _friendly_ exactly, but—not blatantly antagonistic. It feels weird to have an actual conversation with Jon, to discuss the relative merits of different materials, without Martin constantly being on edge anticipating Jon finding something to scold him about. There’s still that snarky edge that comes out sometimes, but when it’s not directed _at_ Martin it’s a lot easier to take. There are even a few times when Jon makes a comment and then pauses, looking at Martin, in a way that makes him wonder if Jon is trying to make a joke. Martin’s not about to make the mistake of assuming again though, not after what happened last time. 

“So, you’re getting a new work bag?” Martin asks. “What happened to your old one?” 

Jon shrugs. “It’s fine as a bag, it’s just not quite large enough to carry statements home on the weekends. I’d like to find something large enough I can fit a whole folder in without creasing it.”

Martin stares at him in horror. “You’ve been _stuffing the statements in a bag_ and taking them home?” He’d thought Sasha’s stapling was bad, but this is so much worse. 

Jon rolls his eyes. “I’ve been taking home _copies_ , Martin, obviously, not the originals,” he snaps. “There’s just so _many_ of them,” he says, waving his hands vaguely, “and if Gertrude had any order _at all_ to them, then it’s certainly not one anyone else can figure out. It’s overwhelming. If I can get through a few more statements on the weekends, then we can all be at least that much closer to having a handle on this mess. As the Head Archivist, it just seems like the very least I could do.” Then he sniffs. “Especially when I’m the only one who seems actually dedicated to this project, rather than to socializing in the office.”

This seems like as good a time as any for Martin to take his leave. “Right,” he says starting to shuffle sideways around Jon. “Well, good luck. I hope you find a bag that suits you.”

Jon nods stiffly in response. “I intend to,” he says. Then, when Martin is almost out of earshot, he adds, “I hope you enjoy your hiking trip.”


	4. I look at the sky, look in your eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Martin finally go on their much-anticipated hiking trip. The mutual pining continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song ‘Clear Eye Clouded Mind’ by Nada Surf.

As much as Tim knows it would be stupid to expect Martin to wear the same clothes hiking that he does to work, he’s still not prepared for the sight of Martin in neon-bright color block parachute trousers, a horror convention t-shirt, and a shell jacket in a color scheme that screams late-80s. He’s replaced his work glasses with a pair of simple round wireframes, his curly hair is pulled back in a stubby ponytail, bangs clipped away from his face, and he’s wearing a large backpack. For a moment, Tim thinks he looks almost like he could be someone’s dad. Not Tim’s dad, of course, Martin isn’t _that_ much older than him, but he gives off that vibe.

Then he sees Tim and he’s bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet as he waves, his face breaking into a wide smile that shows the dimples in his cheeks, and the impression shatters.

“Hey, Tim!” Martin calls out, plopping the backpack on the ground and beginning to rifle through it as Tim approaches. “You didn’t say what to bring, so I checked online and brought a bunch of essentials. We’ve got water, trail mix, some dried fruits and nuts in case you don’t like them mixed, a phone charger, maps—I printed out the trail map from online and I brought some maps of the area, a first aid kit, a couple torches and some extra batteries, some rope, waterproof matches, sunscreen, a towel, and a change of clothes—they’re my clothes obviously but I packed a couple jumpers and you’re welcome to borrow one if you get cold.” Martin takes a deep breath as he finishes, looking satisfied, and Tim’s stomach clenches.

On the one hand, it’s heartwarming that Martin obviously put so much time and effort into preparing for this. On the other hand... “Martin,” Tim says gently, “we’re just doing a short loop trail. It’ll be 2-3 hours walking at most. Water and snacks are good, but we don’t need to bring enough supplies for an overnight backpacking trip.”

Martin thrusts his chin out stubbornly. “It never hurts to be prepared.”

“All right,” Tim says, relenting. The last thing he wants is to start their outing by arguing with Martin. Besides, the fact that Martin is always prepared for anything is one of the things Tim likes about him. “But at least let me carry some of it; I didn’t invite you just so you could do all the work.”

Martin huffs but agrees, and they work together to quickly split the contents of Martin’s backpack between his bag and Tim’s before piling into Tim’s car.

“You won’t believe what Martin is wearing,” Tim texts Sasha as they pull into the car park.

“What?” The response is immediate.

“I bet you £20 you can’t guess. C’mon, you get three guesses.”

“The same clothes he wears to work.”

“No. You’ll have to try harder than that.”

“A dress.”

“No! Who even wears a dress hiking?”

“You’re the one who said I wouldn’t believe it!” Sasha shoots back. “Fine. Jeans?”

“Nope! ;) Parachute trousers and a shell jacket. Full 80s colors.”

“You’re putting me on.”

“I swear Sasha, if it wasn’t for the date on his t-shirt I’d say he was a time traveler.”

Tim convinces Martin to pose for a selfie with him just so he has photographic evidence to send Sasha.

“He looks like a rainbow threw up on him!” Sasha texts back. “Well, at least you won’t have to worry about losing sight of him in the woods.”

Okay, that’s a bit rude. Martin’s outfit _is_ ridiculously colorful, but he’s actually pulling it off pretty well, in Tim’s opinion.

Or maybe Tim is just absolutely gone and would think Martin looks good in anything. Tim shakes his head. _Get it together, Tim._ Tim knows subtlety isn’t exactly his strong point, especially when he has feelings for someone, but Martin barely agreed to come along with Tim as a friend. The last thing Tim wants to do is scare him off by pushing for too much too soon. He needs to take it slow and let Martin set the pace, in the relationship as well as in the actual hiking.

***

Tim is wearing what looks like actual athletic wear designed for hiking, which makes sense given that he probably hikes regularly. It’s form fitting in the way athletic wear tends to be, showing off the firm lines of Tim’s torso, the bulging muscles of his arms and legs. Martin feels a bit breathless just looking at him.

Either it’s late enough in the year that there aren’t a lot of other people out hiking, or the trail Tim’s picked isn’t particularly popular, because there are only a handful of cars in the car park when they arrive, and Tim and Martin don’t encounter anyone else on the trail.

Martin is grateful for this, partly because he doesn’t particularly like the idea of a bunch of strangers judging him for his lack of hiking expertise, but mostly because it makes this feel more like something special just for him and Tim. He knows it’s not a date, he _knows_ it’s not, he keeps reminding himself, but it’s still the first time he’s had a chance to be alone with Tim, to see what he’s like when it’s just the two of them, and to share in one of Tim’s hobbies. When Tim suggests they take a selfie together at the trailhead, Martin enthusiastically agrees. His chosen hiking clothes certainly aren’t the most flattering outfit, especially in contrast to Tim, but having the image immortalized of himself next to Tim as if he belongs there, Tim’s arm casually draped across his shoulder, the wide grin stretching across Tim’s face and his own tentative smile, more than makes up for that minor embarrassment.

Once on the trail, Martin discovers that he rather enjoys hiking. Navigating the uneven ground, watching out for rocks and tree roots half-hidden beneath piles of fallen leaves, is as difficult as he’d expected, but the dry leaves crunch satisfyingly beneath his feet. The late-autumn air is crisp and cool, full of that earthy, smoky scent that seems to come with the season. The sunlight streams through the mostly-bare branches of the trees, feeling warm against the exposed skin of Martin’s hands and face. His fingers clutch the straps of his backpack, easing the pressure on his shoulders. His legs feel strong and solid, propelling him forward with a smooth and powerful stride.

Most of the time Martin feels a bit disconnected from his body, as if piloting it from the outside, like a toy car, his motions slightly out of sync with his impulses. Skating helps, usually, that’s one of the many reasons he prefers it over riding the Tube, but even then he gets overwhelmed by all the jumbled and discordant sensations of being in a city.

Here, the only sounds are the birds in the trees, the crunch of the leaves beneath his feet, the soft swish-swish of fabric as the legs of his trousers rub together as he walks, and the rhythm of Tim’s voice as they try to maintain a conversation. Here, Martin’s body feels like his, and he revels in the sensation.

***

Ok, Tim wasn’t exactly _lying_ when he told Martin that hiking was more about enjoying the experience than moving quickly, but maybe it was a bit of wishful thinking. He knows if he was here on his own, he would be pushing himself, testing his limits, trying to go as far as he could before he turned back. When he’s on his own, it’s easier for the bad thoughts to catch up to him, and he feels like he has to go farther and faster to outrun them. With Martin, though, Tim is forced to make good on his promise to go slowly and live in the moment.

Not that Martin is _slow_ —despite the trepidation he’d voiced when Tim first invited him, Tim finds that they’re fairly evenly matched. Tim’s pace is a bit faster, but Martin’s additional height gives him a longer stride that easily makes up the difference. It’s more that Martin actually _does_ seem deliberate about finding enjoyment in the experience itself, rather than rushing to meet a goal, and trying to keep pace with him forces Tim to do the same.

Tim finds himself paying attention to the different plants along the sides of the path and the birds flitting overhead so he can point out the ones he recognizes, smiling and cracking jokes with Martin like he does in the office. He would worry that he’s rambling, making references Martin will resent because he doesn’t understand, but Martin seems interested even when Tim can tell he doesn’t quite get it, asking more questions when he doesn’t understand, and Tim looks forward to the comments Martin makes in return. He finds Martin is fully capable of making references to things Tim doesn’t get as well. Mostly Keats—Tim recognizes some of the poems Martin quotes, but he doesn’t have the seemingly encyclopedic knowledge of them that Martin does, and he’s intrigued by the way Martin casually weaves lines into conversation as if he just normally thinks in 19th Century poetic verse.

After they’ve been walking for a while, Tim notices with delight that Martin has a snarky side to him as well. Martin trips on a tree-root half-hidden under some fallen leaves, and Tim reaches over to help steady him before he can fall. When he holds out a hand briefly to Martin, saying, “Careful, the ground here is pretty uneven,” Martin responds “Oh, _really?_ Is it? I _hadn’t noticed_ ” in a tone far more dry and sarcastic than anything Tim would have expected to come from him.

There’s a breathy quality to Martin’s voice that Tim takes note of too, and a longer pause between the words. Martin hasn’t complained of being tired yet or needing a moment to catch his breath. Still, Tim realizes guiltily that just because Martin knows how to pace himself for a trip through the city he takes five days a week, that doesn’t mean he automatically knows how to pace himself for an hours-long trek through the woods on a trail he’s never seen before. Especially not if he’s worried about not being able to keep up with Tim. Tim starts looking around for a place where they can rest a bit.

***

Martin’s not sure how Tim can walk at such a pace and still have breath for talking, but he’s content to mostly listen and take it in, humming to show he’s listening, and every now and then giving a response to a direct question from Tim or asking one of his own if he’s curious.

Then Martin stumbles over a tree root, and Tim grabs his hand to steady him. The heat that floods Martin’s face at that brief touch is only partly embarrassment at his clumsiness. Tim’s hand is warm and dry. It’s a bit smaller than Martin’s own hand, but it feels strong, and Tim’s grip is firm. The gesture only lasts for a moment, but it makes Martin feel warm and tingly, and his stomach swoops with disappointment when Tim lets go. It had felt good to hold Tim’s hand, almost right somehow, as if their hands were made to hold each other. Martin feels stupid for the thought almost as soon as it crosses his mind. Look at him, mooning over handholding like he’s in primary school. It’s not as if it was even proper handholding. Tim was just being nice enough to help keep Martin from tripping. He would have done that for anyone in Martin’s place, because it’s just basic human decency and Tim’s a decent person. He didn’t mean anything by it, and Martin needs to stop reading so much into everything before he oversteps, makes a mess of things, and ruins his friendship with Tim. _Are they friends?_ Martin really hopes they’re friends. Tim’s friendly in general so it’s hard to tell how close he feels with Martin, but Tim wouldn’t have invited him to go hiking with him if they weren’t friends, right? Martin’s suddenly not sure. Well, even more reason not to do anything that might jeopardize his potential friendship with Tim, then, like asking Tim if he wants to hold Martin’s hand again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As long as I post before midnight on Sunday, it still counts as a weekend update, right??? This has been a crazy week for me, so I apologize for this chapter being so late and unbetaed (hopefully Tim and Martin aren’t too ooc). I’ll try to do better with the remaining chapters.  
> As always, please let me know what you think! Feel free to comment here or look me up on tumblr @morning-softness


	5. When do we get home?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end, but maybe not this loop trail.
> 
> or
> 
> The hiking trip does not go as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: brief food mention, body functions mention, very mild self-harm (thumb-biting) in response to stress
> 
> Beta by my friend L., an avid reader and writer of queer romance, who gave me a lot of advice on mutual-pining and developing relationships. Any remaining errors and inconsistencies are my own.

“Why don’t we stop here and rest for a bit?” Tim asks as the trail widens into a small clearing. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a break and some water.” He plops down onto a log, shrugging off his backpack, while Martin leans against a nearby tree.

Martin slips his jacket off, warmed from exertion despite the crisp chill of the air, and Tim is temporarily struck speechless by the sight of Martin in a t-shirt.

Tim knows Martin is strong—he’s seen the ease with which he hefts the boxes of files, the way he’d taken it upon himself to rearrange some of the filing cabinets for Jon after he complained—and he’s aware of Martin’s general shape. Still, there’s a fair amount of precise anatomy you can hide beneath an oversized jumper or a shell jacket. Now, Martin’s broad shoulders and thick arms are on full display, the muscle beneath the layer of softness moving smoothly as he ties the jacket loosely around his waist, and the thin fabric of his t-shirt clings to the soft curves of his torso.

“Want to sit down?” Tim asks as soon as he regains the power of speech, patting the space on the log beside him. “I promise I don’t bite,” he adds, flashing Martin one of his patented grins.

Martin dips one shoulder in a shrug. “This is fine,” he says. “Don’t really fancy getting up again if I sit down.”

Tim nods and tries to pretend he isn’t intensely disappointed. All the clearing has to offer is a cracked stump—which doesn’t look particularly sturdy and is probably full of bugs—and the log Tim is sitting on—which is fairly low to the ground. He has to stretch his own legs out in a way that isn’t quite comfortable, and Martin is taller than he is.

Martin digs the trail mix and dried fruits and nuts out from his backpack and they share them, passing the water bottle back and forth.

Tim’s eyes follow the movement of Martin’s hand to his mouth as he eats. There’s a freckle just at the left corner that Tim could almost mistake for a bit of chocolate except that Tim’s the one digging into the trail mix, while Martin’s been sticking to the unmixed cashews and dried cranberries. Tim’s gaze anchors on Martin’s soft, full lips, moist from the bottle of water they’ve been sharing, and Tim is suddenly overcome with a desire to kiss him. He imagines pulling Martin down on the log beside him, carding a hand through his soft curls as he leans in close. He wonders if Martin would taste like cranberries.

Tim’s daydream is interrupted by the bag of dried cranberries suddenly being thrust into his vision. “Here,” Martin says, “you wanted some of these, right? You were staring pretty hard.”

Tim swallows hard and takes the proffered bag. “Thanks, Martin,” he croaks.

“You know, if there’s anything else you want, you can just ask, right?” Martin says.

And oh, isn’t _that_ a turn of phrase. Tim’s pretty sure Martin’s not actually flirting, given the casual tone of his offer, but he can’t resist cocking an eyebrow and saying “ _Anything_?” in a tone he hopes is suitably suggestive.

Martin shrugs. “Well, anything I’ve got on hand,” he says, bending over to rummage in the backpack again, “obviously, I couldn’t pack absolutely _everything_ , but I think I’m pretty well-prepared.”

Tim laughs, trying to pass it off as a joke and hoping Martin doesn’t notice how awkward he sounds. “I’m fine, Martin,” he says, “but thanks for the offer.”

Martin is either completely oblivious, or this is his way of trying to let Tim down gently. Either way, Tim knows he should probably stop staring at him and daydreaming about what he would do if he was just a bit braver. He needs to play it cool, like he does in the office, confident and unflappable. Still, it’s hard when Martin’s standing this close to him, and when every movement makes warmth coil in the pit of Tim’s stomach.

When they’re finished, Martin repacks the snacks and pulls out the maps. There’s something about the way Martin looks leaning casually against a tree with the heavy backpack beside him, holding the maps up in front of him, a few stray curls escaping his ponytail to curl around his face, squinting slightly at the small print as his glasses slip down his nose. Something that makes Tim’s heart flutter and the breath catch in his throat. Something that makes him want to take this moment and remember it forever. He smiles at the way Martin’s forehead creases and his nose wrinkles with concentration as he compares the area map to the trail map.

Tim snaps a picture to send to Sasha, but his phone doesn’t have signal. Oh well, he’ll send it later when they get back to the car park.

***

“How far do you think we are?” Martin asks, peering at the trail map. It’s not drawn to scale, so it’s hard to tell exactly where the clearing they’re currently sitting in might fall along the ovoid shape marked on the paper. The map of the area is a bit better at showing the general shape of the trail, but it’s set to a larger scale, so there aren’t any landmarks marked on the trail.

Tim hums thoughtfully. “We’ve been walking long enough I’d say we’re somewhere between two-thirds and three-quarters of the way done with it. Definitely more than halfway, at least.”

Martin blinks, surprised. He hadn’t realized they’d already come so far. He’s a bit surprised and impressed by his own ability to keep up with Tim. Sure, his knees are starting to ache a bit—one thing he’d forgotten about when considering the hike was the fact that skating and hiking pull differently on the muscles in the legs—and his feet are a little sore—he’ll have to give them a good soak when he gets back home—but he’s held up a lot better than he’d been afraid of. Even better, Tim doesn’t seem to regret having invited him along.

Martin finds he’s actually disappointed when they reach the crossroads between the loop trail and the path to the car park. It’s been fun, hiking with Tim, and he’s not quite ready for it to be over yet. He says as much.

“Maybe we can go a bit farther next time,” Tim says, as they start down the left-hand path back towards the car park. “That is, if you’d like to come with me again.”

Tim’s inviting him to come again? Martin’s mouth suddenly feels dry, and his heart beats faster. “I’d like that,” he says, smiling as he follows Tim down the trail.

The trail goes up and down in a way that feels more like the main trail than Martin’s distant memory of the brief connecting path to the car park. The trees are thicker and closer to the path than he remembers. Martin frowns. He doesn’t remember it being this far from the trailhead to the car park. Still, back then he was fresh and excited and now he’s tired and his legs are just a bit sore. It makes sense that it would feel longer on the way back. Even going to and from work everyday, the trip home always seems to take longer than the trip there. It doesn’t seem like it should take quite this long though. Martin glances over at Tim to see if he’s noticed anything off, but he seems to be in the same good mood as ever, talking about various other trails he knows of within a short drive from London, and listing out the pros and cons of each one.

“So, if you think you’re up for something that’s more of a challenge, Leith Hill and Ditchling Beacon have the best views,” Tim’s saying. “They’re both pretty steep trails, but they’re so, so worth it.”

“Don’t know how you missed this, Tim,” Martin huffs, “but I’m not the biggest fan of hills. You know any trails with a good view that _don’t_ involve climbing one of the steepest hills in the area?”

“Right, right, so there’s loads of trails in Epping Forest of course; we’re bound to run into more people there, but it’s popular for a reason. Great wooded trails, plenty of wildlife, deer sanctuary so there’s a good chance we’d get to see some black fallow deer.”

Martin hums. “That’d be nice.”

“Yeah?” Tim’s smile widens. “There’s also Chess Valley, that’s a much longer hike, but it’s a bit flatter, if you’d prefer distance to hills, and it’s a nice trek through the countryside. Oh, and there’s...”

Martin does his best to focus on Tim’s words as he rambles on about hiking trails, and—when that fails—to at least keep his mind fixed on the steady rise and fall of Tim’s voice and not his own increasing tiredness. He tries to keep his breathing slow and steady, so as not to show how much he’s struggling as the trail continues. Shouldn’t they be there by now? Maybe he isn’t ready for a longer hike after all.

When they arrive at the clearing for a second time, Martin realizes what must have happened. “Looks like we took the wrong turn and went around loop again,” he says, huffing a laugh that’s barely more than a puff of air. If he wasn’t tired before, he certainly is now.

Tim frowns. “Sorry, Martin. I’m not sure how we took the wrong path without realizing it. I must have read the signs wrong at the crossroads.”

Martin shrugs. “No harm in getting a bit of extra exercise. Let’s take the right path back this time though, yeah?”

This time, they take the right-hand path, after double-checking the juncture against the trail map. Tim walks along the path just far enough to check that it does look more like a side path than the main trail, before gesturing for Martin to follow him. “This should do it,” he calls back over his shoulder. “I think I can see the car park through the trees.”

Martin does not see the car park through the trees—if anything, they seem to crowd together more thickly and press closer to the path than before—but he follows Tim.

The trail does not take them back to the car park. Instead, it rises and falls beneath Martin’s feet in a way he’s beginning to become uncomfortably familiar with. It seems like there are even more rocks and tree roots lying across the path this time. Or maybe it’s just Martin’s exhaustion making him more prone to tripping.

There are rustling sounds in the undergrowth that sound too loud to be squirrels or rabbits. Not to mention that it’s been a while now since they’ve actually seen any animals skittering through the trees and bushes or darting across the path. There’s no sign of the birds from earlier, either. No birdsong or soft twittering from the trees alongside the path, and no friendly bird-shapes flitting through the branches that twine ever more thickly overhead, like long twisted fingers curling down around them and closing them in.

Behind the clouds, the sky is beginning to get dark, the day edging firmly from afternoon into evening, and Martin pulls his jacket back on to ward off the increasing chill. Tim keeps making spirited comments and relating anecdotes of his past adventures, laughing at his own jokes when Martin is too tired and winded to respond. Still, for all his overblown joviality, Martin suspects Tim has reached the same conclusion he has: this trail definitely does not lead to the car park.

Tim’s laughter bounces back oddly from the trees, making it sound almost as though the trees are laughing too. Tim’s laughter is bright and kind, but the echoes that follow are too harsh, too loud, almost mocking.

Martin tries to tell himself he’s just worrying over nothing like always. They just got a bit turned around somehow, but they’ll find their way back to the car park soon enough and everything will be fine. The trees are alive, but no more than any trees are, they aren’t _sentient_ and they definitely aren’t laughing at him. Tim isn’t laughing at him either, he’s trying to laugh with him, to joke with him the way he does with Martin and Sasha at work. If Martin doesn’t get the joke, if he’s too preoccupied with putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to think about the way the trees feel like they’re pressing in on him, that’s his own fault, not Tim’s.

It starts to rain, an intermittent sprinkling that then becomes a steady dull drizzle, making the ground slick beneath their feet and making it even harder for Martin to stay upright. Raindrops speckle Martin’s glasses, blurring his vision, and he keeps misjudging the distance between himself and the surrounding plant growth—stumbling over roots and then almost failing to catch himself on a tree trunk. He pulls up the hood on his jacket, feeling grateful for the way the water just slides off the slick material of his jacket and pants, instead of soaking through the fabric into his skin. That’s one mercy at least.

Tim is still talking and talking, trying to fill the increasingly uncomfortable silence between them. His voice is too loud and fast, and the words blend together into a wall of noise that makes Martin’s head ache.

Martin resists the urge to put his hands over his ears to block out the sound, or to dig around in his bag for his earbuds to plug in the way he would on the tube. Tim isn’t just talking, Tim is talking _to him_. If Martin can’t muster the energy to track the conversation and respond, then the least he can do is pretend he’s listening and keep quiet, pressing his lips tightly to hold in his growing urge to shout at Tim to _just shut up_. He can’t break down now, in front of Tim. He can hold it together. He has to.

***

This stopped being fun hours ago. Martin looks practically dead on his feet. He’s barely even responding to Tim’s jokes and comments, beyond the occasional vague sound of acknowledgement that Tim has said something. It’s getting dark. If they’re out here much longer, they’ll have to dig out the torches Martin packed. As it is, between the dim light and the rain, their pace has slowed to a crawl as they try to pick their way around the rocks and tree roots, struggling to keep their footing on the mud and rain-slick leaves that cover the trail.

Martin slips and smacks a tree trying to catch himself, hitting it so hard it makes a solid ‘thwack’ and showers both of them with leaves.

“Careful!” Tim calls out. “You don’t want to _hurt_ the poor tree!” He adds, chuckling, as he checks to makes sure Martin is all right, trying to add some levity to the situation. He’s hoping for a laugh, or some of Martin’s earlier snark, but Martin just grunts in response.

Tim frowns, biting his lip. This isn’t good. This outing was his idea in the first place, so it’s his responsibility to make sure it’s enjoyable. Tim is growing increasingly desperate to salvage some vestige of a good time.

***

By the time they reach the clearing a third time, Martin isn’t bothering to try to hide the fact that he’s wheezing. Catching his breath has long-since surpassed impressing Tim on his internal list of priorities. He plops down onto the stump despite the wetness, grateful for even a brief opportunity to take the weight off his feet and knees, even though he knows they’ll only complain more later when he stands back up. If he’s stuck in some endless loop, no matter how much he walks, then he might as well sit down.

Martin sips water slowly while Tim finishes the last of the snacks Martin had packed, and the brief reprieve from movement and conversation helps him pull himself back from the edge of breaking and regain some awareness of his surroundings.

“I have to, uh, take care of business,” Tim says. “Do you need to go? I know there’s not really a toilet out here, but you can duck behind one of the trees.”

Martin bites his lip and shakes his head. He can’t stand the thought of trying to take care of his business behind a random tree in the rain. Besides... “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to go off the path,” he says. Not that staying on the path has helped them much so far, but repeating the fixed loop still feels safer than venturing out into the complete unknown.

Tim shrugs. “I don’t think we can get more lost at this point,” he says, but then he adds, “I won’t go far from the trail, I promise.”

As reluctant as Martin is to let Tim out of his sight, he knows he wouldn’t have mentioned this unless it was urgent, and he can hardly justify trying to go _with_ him. Martin sighs. “All right,” he says slowly. “Just, promise you’ll come back, okay?”

“Cross my heart,” Tim says, grinning, and he waves cheerily before he vanishes into the trees.

Martin stares after him for a long moment, straining for any sign of movement through the trees, before he gives up. He tries to ground himself, to regain his now-slipping sense of being in his body, of being in control of his actions and reactions. He stretches his arms up over his head, bending slowly to one side then the other, then bends forward, pressing his fingers into his side, trying to relieve the stitch. He stretches his legs out in front of him, leaning forward to rub his sore knees. He’ll definitely need a foot soak with some epsom salt and maybe some ice on his knees when he gets back home. Assuming he _does_ get back eventually. Martin shakes his head. He can’t think like that. They’ll find a way back. Of course they will. They’ll find a way back and everything will be _fine_ because it has to be, because any other possibility is too horrible to consider.

Martin takes off his glasses and wipes them on his shirt, trying to clean off the water, but it just smears the water around and makes his shirt damp. The whole world is blurry and unfocused, and even though he knows it’s just a combination of the rain and his natural poor vision, it makes him feel disconnected. The forest is quiet but what sounds there are are strangely muffled and distorted, like they’re coming from far away instead of right around him.

Martin tries to watch the tree line for Tim’s return, eyes fixed on the spot where he expects him to re-emerge, intermittently swiping at the moisture on his glasses that fogs his vision. He tries to tell himself that the strange shifting of the undergrowth is just the wind—although there’s barely even a slight breeze—or some small woodland animal, _nothing dangerous!_ He can’t think of any animal that would make the trees and bushes move _like that_ , but that’s just because he’s not the rabid outdoorsman Tim is. Tim will get back and have a bit of a laugh when Martin points it out to him, and he’ll tell Martin it’s some special kind of vole or something Martin’s never heard of, and it shakes the bushes like that as part of some obscure mating ritual, and then they’ll both have a bit of a laugh together about how Martin thought it was creepy.

He tries to tell himself that he’s imagining the way the trees seem to be encroaching more and more on the clearing as time passes, the way their reaching branches seem to cover up more of the patch of sky above him whenever he looks up. He tries to tell himself that it’s obviously impossible for some of the trees to change places every time he blinks. It’s all in his head, some trick of the rain, or the fading light, or some product of his own exhaustion, just like the strange shadows that flicker on the edge of his vision but which vanish as soon as he turns his head to look at them. He and Tim will probably have a good laugh about that too, when he comes back. Tim will say “ooh, _spooky_ ,” with his fingers making air quotes and he’ll joke about making a statement to Jon when they go back to work on Monday, but of course they won’t because _it’s nothing_. Everything is _fine_.

Tim is gone for what feels like a very long time. Martin tries to tell himself it’s nothing to worry about, that it’s just taking Tim a while to find a good spot, that maybe he had a lot of ‘business’ to take care of, that it’s probably difficult to go comfortably in the rain. Still, with every minute that passes his anxiety increases. What if Tim went too far from the path and can’t find his way back? What if he’s wandering lost through the trees and Martin can’t help him? Or—Martin’s stomach sinks even more at this new thought—what if whatever’s wrong with the loop trail is confined to the trail itself? What if the only one really stuck here was Martin, and Tim was only stuck because he was staying with him? Tim had said he could see the car park through the trees earlier, when Martin couldn’t. What if, by stepping off the trail, Tim was freed from the trap and is now standing in a regular version of the woods, unable to find his way back to whatever Twilight Zone dimension Martin’s in? What if Tim never comes back? What if Martin is just alone now? What if Martin is stuck alone, on this endless loop of a trail, forever?

Tim still hasn’t come back. Martin presses his thumb against the edge of his teeth, making a soft tuneless hum as he bites down gently, trying to focus on the dull pain, the sensation of teeth digging steadily harder into the soft flesh, instead of the worrying thoughts cycling through his head. He’s got to keep it together. Tim will come back, of course he will, and they’ll find their way back to the car park. Martin can’t fall apart now. Neither of them can afford that.

***

Martin is sitting very still on the tree stump where Tim left him. His head is tilted down and he doesn’t seem to have noticed Tim yet. Something about his posture reminds Tim of how Martin is at work, earbuds in and so focused on the files in front of him that he’s completely oblivious to everything around him—the perfect target for a surprise attack. He takes slow and careful steps, avoiding the leaves and squelchier bits of wet ground, trying to make as little noise as possible as he comes up behind Martin.

“Guess who!” Tim calls out, clapping his hands over Martin’s eyes.

Tim’s not expecting Martin to shriek and swing a fist at his face—he stumbles back, managing to duck just in time to avoid a black eye—or for Martin to fall off the tree trunk. Martin’s eyes are wide as he scrambles around on the ground, turning towards him, and Tim holds up both hands. “Whoa, whoa, easy there,” he says, laughing a bit from surprise. “It’s just me, Martin. You really are jumpy, aren’t you?”

“Tim?” Martin’s voice is shaky.

“Relax, Martin,” Tim says, “I was just teasing. Sorry if I startled you.” Martin’s wide-eyed, open-mouthed surprise is comically endearing. The two spots of color high on his cheeks. The way his jaw drops and his lips stretch in a perfect ‘o.’ Tim shakes his head grinning. “You should see your face!”

Martin’s eyes narrow and his face goes stony as he stands.

He towers over Tim, fists clenched at his sides. It’s strange because Martin’s not a small person by any stretch of the imagination, and obviously Tim’s aware of that. It’s hard not to notice how much the cheap office chairs complain when Martin sits down, or how Martin always has to duck beneath the low lintel of the break room doorway, or how Tim has to squeeze past Martin in the narrow hallways of the Archives when they meet each other going in opposite directions. And it’s not that Tim’s _scared_ of Martin exactly, but, well... Tim’s never been this fully conscious of how _much_ taller than him Martin is, or just _how_ big Martin is, or how Martin could _absolutely_ deck him if he wanted to.

Tim begins to get a sinking feeling that he might have misjudged the situation. “I was just kidding around, Martin,” Tim says, raising both hands in supplication, “I thought it would be funny.”

“Funny to _whom_ , Tim?” Martin bites out. “Funny to whom? Because it sure as hell wasn’t funny to _me_!”

Tim’s heart sinks. He messed up. He messed up badly. Martin looks angry, but more than that, he looks _hurt_. He’s breathing hard, his face flushed, and he keeps blinking like he’s doing his best not to cry. It would have been funny to Sasha, Tim thinks. She would probably have pranked him back at the earliest possible opportunity. Jon would have jumped and maybe twisted his ankle, but he would have secretly been amused even if he pretended not to be, and if Tim had complained about carrying him back Jon would have needled him, saying ‘it’s all your fault.’ Martin’s usually so much fun to tease, because he flusters easily and looks adorable when he does. Tim had thought this would be just another fun prank they could both laugh over, something to help lighten the mood. He definitely hadn’t expected a reaction like this. Tim’s never seen Martin like this before, his face blank, his mouth a tight straight line, his eyes narrowed into angry slits. It scares him.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says, bewildered, “it really was a joke, honest.”

Martin just huffs, turning and striding away down the trail.

Martin is walking with purpose, and he’s moving so fast Tim struggles to keep up. What was it he’d said earlier about slowing Tim down? Tim’s half-jogging, trying not to lose him.

“Martin—“ Tim reaches out for his arm, but stops when Martin swings around and levels a white-hot glare at him.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.” He bites out, the words hard and brittle, falling from his mouth like stones.

Tim pulls back, his heart shriveling in his chest. How did he mess things up this badly?

Tim’s so focused on Martin that he barely notices the change in his surroundings. It’s only the sudden smoothness of the surface underfoot and the cessation of the rain that alerts him to the fact that they’ve finally reached the car park. Afterwards, he couldn’t have said if they’d taken the right hand or left hand turn at the crossroads, or if Martin had even followed the path at all or just forged his own way through the trees.

“Are you going to walk all the way back to London?” Tim asks as they approach the car, Martin still moving like he’s trying out for a speed walking competition.

Martin hesitates, like he’s actually considering it, then huffs and stops beside the car.

Tim is unreasonably relieved when he unlocks the car and Martin climbs in the passenger seat.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says again, softly, when they’re in the car. He’s still not sure exactly what he did wrong.

“Good,” Martin snaps. “You should be.” He stares out the window and doesn’t look at Tim the whole way back.

Tim takes them back to his flat, partly because he doesn’t just want to leave Martin like this, but also because he doesn’t know where Martin lives and Martin isn’t talking to him.

Martin isn’t saying anything at all and it scares Tim. It occurs to him that this is the first time he’s seen Martin really upset, and he’s not sure what to do, how to fix things. This hiking trip was his plan to get closer to Martin, for the two of them to have a good time together, and he’d really thought it was working at first. Now, though, the whole thing seems to have backfired and convinced Martin he doesn’t want anything to do with Tim, and Tim’s still can’t figure out how it all went so very wrong.

“So, welcome to my place,” Tim says awkwardly, holding the door for Martin to go inside. “The bathroom’s right through that door on the right. You can get a shower if you want,” he says, hurrying to the closet to pull out a washcloth and towels, focusing on his hands because it’s too much to look at Martin and see him steadfastly refusing to look back at him.

“Here, these are clean, and I don’t mind you using my soap or shampoo. I know it’s nice to feel clean and fresh after a long hike. Sorry, I’d offer to run your clothes through the wash and give you a change of clothes when you get out, but I don’t think I really have anything that would fit you,” Tim babbles.

Martin just hefts his backpack in response.

“Oh, right, you packed extra clothes! I remember you mentioned that. Great! I guess you’re all set them! If you leave your clothes outside the door, I’ll wash them for you.”

Martin steps into the bathroom and the door closes behind him with a decisive click that somehow seems louder than a slam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! This chapter really fought me, and I couldn’t find a good place to split it so I just had to stick it out. I hope the extra length helps make up for it. I also did get this chapter Betaed so the quality should be a tad better.
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful people who left kudos and comments on my earlier chapters, you definitely helped encourage me to keep going!
> 
> If you’re here for the fluff, don’t worry, things _will_ get resolved next chapter.


End file.
